


at home

by ghostfaeries



Series: Trans Bats [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: (It's jayroy timkon and birdflash btw), Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Artist Damian Wayne, As it should be, Autistic Damian Wayne, Autistic Tim Drake, Background Relationships, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Body Dysphoria, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Chest Binding, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne-centric, Dick is a Good Brother, Dissociation, Dysphoria, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, I Will Pepper In The Fact That Theyre All Trans, LGBTQ Themes, Nonbinary Cassandra Cain, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Duke Thomas, Shopping, Time Skips, Trans Alfred Pennyworth, Trans Bruce Wayne, Trans Character, Trans Damian Wayne, Trans Dick Grayson, Trans Female Character, Trans Jason Todd, Trans Male Character, Trans Stephanie Brown, Trans Tim Drake, maybe?? - Freeform, thats a thing now youre welcome, the sibs take dami to the mall its a whole thing, there is not a single cis person in this fic, top surgery, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25408855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostfaeries/pseuds/ghostfaeries
Summary: “I’m not who you think I am. I am not your daughter.”Bruce still looked confused. “No, you are. I’ve done the DNA tests. They all came back positive.”Damian almost chuckled at that. Almost. “That’s not what I meant. I meant... I meant I am not a girl. I’m a boy. I’m your son.”Silence.“If you’ll still have me."~Damian in different stages of his life, figuring things out
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: Trans Bats [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850425
Comments: 28
Kudos: 303





	at home

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, happy birthday to Damian, I'm glad I managed to finish this on time. I've been working on this fic for the past few weeks and I'm pretty happy with how it came out. This is my first time writing Steph, Cass and Duke, whom I don't know much about (I've only been into comics for a few months so I have not gotten around to reading about them yet) so I hope I did them justice.
> 
> Also yes I have made everyone trans. I don't care about canon, this is my city now. I can do what I want  
> The timeline isn't really that important here, not much from canon is mentioned besides a few select events
> 
> This started out as a 5 +1 fic but quickly evolved into something even bigger, so that might shine through still in some of the scenes with just Damian and one other character. I pulled from my own experiences with dysphoria, but I don't bind nor have I had top surgery, so those depictions might not be entirely accurate, apologies
> 
> English is my second language, so feel free to point out any mistakes
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> ~
> 
> Content warnings: Damian has insecurities about being accepted for being trans and there's a bit of internalized transphobia so watch out for that. This fic also deals with dysphoria, specifically chest and hair dysphoria. Damian also gets his period at one point. If you need more details about any of these events to know what you're getting into, feel free to comment or shoot me a dm on my DC blog autistic-damian-wayne, I'm happy to provide it
> 
> DISCLAIMER: please do not interact with this fic in any way if you ship Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Damian or Duke with each other as this makes me very uncomfortable as someone with siblings, thank you

_10 years old_

It was a regular post-patrol night. Robin and Nightwing had just come back from patrol together and Robin was watching Nightwing patch himself up in the med-bay. Neither of them had sustained large injuries, just some bruises, and a minor slash across the ribs in Nightwing’s case. 

“Hey, Rob, can you help me with this cut? I can’t reach it well,” Nightwing called out, peeling off his domino and now he was just Grayson. Robin’s brother. 

Robin walked over to him and sat down next to him on one of the cots. Grayson had pulled off the top half of his suit, exposing his torso, so he could treat the cut there. It was partly on his side, partly on his back, so he couldn’t reach all of it himself. Robin grabbed the cleaning supplies and got to work. It honestly wasn’t that big of a wound, but Pennyworth insisted they properly clean it anyway. You never knew what grime had been clinging to the blade. 

Grayson’s torso was covered in scars, which was to be expected in their line of work, especially for someone with over a decade of experience. They were all messy, jagged and uneven. There was a wide variety of sizes, some as small as a needle prick, others spanning from his belly button all the way to his chest. Robin knew how to distinguish scars from burns, blades, guns, shuriken, everything under the sun. However, he could not figure out what a particular pair of scars on Grayson’s chest was from. There were two slightly curved scars, right under Grayson’s pectorals. They looked neat and precise, like they’d been made with purpose. 

He finished cleaning and dressing Grayson’s wound but he stayed where he was. His hands hovered over the twin scars, not daring to touch. 

“What happened?” He asked. “Who did this to you, Grayson? Were you tortured?” 

Grayson furrowed his eyebrows. Robin noted the way he tilted his head looked like a bird. “What do you mean? Who did what to me?” 

Robin gestured to the scars on his chest. “These. Who gave them to you? They look too neat to be from a fight. Were you tortured?” He repeated. 

Grayson looked down at the scars in question. “No, I- Oh, you mean these.” He started laughing. Robin didn’t understand. What was so funny? 

“It’s okay, little bird, I wasn’t tortured. I chose to get these scars,” Grayson said, and Robin was even more confused now. Why in hell would someone _choose_ to obtain scars? 

Grayson seemed to notice his confusion and explained. “They’re from surgery. I had my boobs removed a couple years ago.” 

“Why would you have boobs?” Robin blurted out. Usually he wasn’t this blunt – _he wasn’t!_ \- but it seemed his filter had dissipated. 

Fortunately, Grayson just chuckled amusedly. “I’m trans. Do you know what that means?” 

Robin shook his head wordlessly. 

Grayson explained. “It means that when I was born, I was assigned the gender female, but that didn’t match what I felt inside. I’ve always felt like a boy and getting top surgery helped me with that. Not all trans people get surgery or hormone replacement therapy, it’s not necessary to do that to be trans, but I like it. So, don’t worry. These scars stand for happiness. Getting top surgery vastly improved my quality of life, made me feel more at home in my body, and I’ve never regretted it for a moment.” 

“That’s...” Robin hesitated. “That’s a thing?” All his usual eloquence had made place for bafflement, and maybe a little hope and wonder. 

“What, transness? Sure is. I’m here, aren’t I?” Grayson grinned. 

“Can... can anyone be... you know. Trans.” 

Grayson’s expression softened and he offered Robin a kind smile. “Of course. There’s no rules. It’s about feeling. About being.” 

“I-” Robin began. 

Grayson kept smiling at him encouragingly, urging him to go on. 

Robin took a deep breath. He knew that as soon as he said it, he couldn’t take it back. Everything would change. He looked up at Grayson, his face open and warm and _safe_. He took the leap. 

“I think I’m like you. No, I _know_ I’m like you. I’m a boy.” 

“Okay,” Grayson easily said. Like it was no big deal. 

“Okay? Really? You’re just okay with that?” 

“You said it yourself, Babybat. I’m just like you. Of course I’m okay with it.” Grayson drew him into his arms. 

Robin stiffened for a moment. He knew Grayson was a tactile person, and he’d been hugged by him before. But never like this. This embrace... it meant something. It felt like a fresh start. A new beginning. The tension left his muscles and he tentatively put his arms around Grayson’s back. Grayson held him tight, the pressure soothing Robin’s nerves. There was a certain gentleness in the way he was holding him, like he was both a fragile porcelain cup and a shard of diamond, able to cut into Grayson in so many different ways if he broke him. But he didn’t feel coddled, or like Grayson was afraid of shattering him. He just felt protected and safe. Nothing could ever hurt him, as long as Grayson was holding him. Being in his brother’s arms... it felt like coming home. 

Grayson pulled back after a while, though only enough to be able to see Robin’s face. He kept “What do you want me to call you? Do you want to change your name? Do you want me to help you find one?” 

Robin hesitated. He’d stumbled across the name one day while going through a database of citizens in an attempt to find a suspect, and taken an odd liking to it. He hadn’t understood why back then, but now it was clear. 

Robin exhaled and took off his mask. “Damian. Call me Damian.” 

* * *

Damian asked Grayson to keep it quiet for a bit. He wanted to come out to the family on his own time. Grayson had just squeezed his shoulders and told him not to worry, everyone would be fine with it. 

He’d decided to tell Todd while they were on patrol together. Todd’s relationship with the family had improved massively, but he still wasn’t at the manor often, so he had to do it this way. Todd had just fist bumped him, said “Cool, me too, little dude,” and jumped off the roof they were crouching on to kick a criminal in the face. 

Brown wasn’t in his initial line up of people to tell, but when she once again came to bug him after patrol, he decided she needed to know. Just so he would be referred to with the correct name and pronouns. Not because he considered her family. Of course not. 

Drake, Damian hadn’t been sure about. Damian knew he wasn’t a bigot, he was fine with Grayson and Todd being trans after all, but he feared Drake’s personal dislike for him would take over. Shockingly, this was not what happened. Damian had cornered Drake one night, a few days after his initial conversation with Grayson. He’d chosen this time specifically, right after patrol, when he knew Drake was at his most exhausted and wouldn’t be as quick brained as usual. This would allow for him to spring the information on Drake quickly and vanish as soon as he’d uttered the words, leaving Drake with no time to react. Damian executed this plan, perfectly of course, but Drake just had to go and throw a wrench in it. Drake, in his stupid sleep deprived state, had thrown his arms around Damian and said that he was happy to not be the littlest brother anymore, and that he and Damian were now “trans baby bro buddies”. Whatever that meant. Damian had hissed and shoved him away, calling over his shoulder to go the fuck to sleep, because he was making no sense. 

Cain hadn’t look surprised at all. She’d just smiled at him and signed “little brother” before piqueing away. 

Pennyworth hadn’t been surprised either. He had just said, “Of course, lad.” and proceeded to ask Damian what he wanted for dinner. 

Father was last. Damian hadn’t wanted to admit it to Grayson (to himself), but he was afraid of Father’s reaction. He knew now that Father had been fine with all of his brothers being trans, but Damian was different. He was the biological child. He was the one who should continue the Wayne legacy, the company. He was the one who needed to uphold media presence. What if Father had a problem with him not being able to do that? Damian wasn’t stupid, he knew what the press would think. He didn’t care. Much. His concern was aimed at what Father would think, not the media. 

Well, at least Grayson, Todd, Drake, Brown and Cain would have his back in case things didn’t work out. Pennyworth too, probably. Grayson had an extra room in his and West’s apartment, he was sure he could crash there. Just in case. 

It all depended on how the next few minutes would go. 

Damian was standing in front of the door to Father’s office, his frog squishy in one hand, the other hand raised, though he didn’t knock just yet. He attempted to calm himself with the breathing exercises Grayson had taught him. He needed to be level headed for this. 

He knocked on the door. 

“Come in.” 

Damian took another deep breath and entered the room. Father was sitting at his desk, his laptop open in front of him. Damian took a seat on the opposite site. His hands immediately went to his lap, fidgeting with the frog. It had been a gift from Drake when he found out they were both autistic. He’d said it would help with stress. Damian found he had been right. 

“Father.” 

Father looked up from his laptop and smiled. “Hey, kiddo, what is it?” 

“I have something to tell you. Something important.” 

“Oh? What is it?” Father closed his laptop and turned all his attention on Damian. 

(Maybe Damian should stop referring to him as Father. Just to prepare for the worst.) 

“I... I understand if I might disappoint you with this, being the biological child. You probably didn’t want this.” 

Bruce said his name. His old name. Damian winced. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” 

Damian’s mouth tasted like metal. Blood. He’d bitten his cheek too hard. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. In fact, I am more worried about you.” 

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Damian squeezed the frog so hard he felt the fabric give and a slight ripping noise was audible. Damn. He’d have to ask Pennyworth to patch it up later. 

If he were still living at the manor by then. 

“I’m not who you think I am. I am not your daughter.” 

Bruce still looked confused. “No, you are. I’ve done the DNA tests. They all came back positive.” 

Damian almost chuckled at that. Almost. “That’s not what I meant. I meant... I meant I am not a girl. I’m a boy. I’m your son.” 

Silence. 

“If you’ll still have me,” He added. 

“Of course I’ll still have you.” The words fell out of Bruce’s mouth immediately, as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. Bruce stood up and quickly walked around the desk to crouch down in front of Damian so they were eyelevel. “I’ll always have you.” 

Damian didn’t understand the easy acceptance. “But- But I’m your blood. Your heir. Shouldn’t I... be better? Be perfect?” 

“Oh, sweetheart, no. Your worth is not tied to what you can do or be for me, and neither is my love for you. And being trans does not make you lesser. Never. It’s a beautiful part of you, and it’s what makes you _you_.” Bruce gripped his shoulders, tightly but not hurtful in the least. Strong, comforting. The touch of a father. “I love you, okay? Always, whether you’re my son or my daughter. You’re my child. I’ll never abandon you.” 

“But... but don’t you expect me to uphold our media presence? The public won’t like me being trans. Shouldn’t I... shouldn’t I be better than this?” 

Father’s eyes took on a sad tinge as the corners of his mouth sagged slightly. He knelt down so they were at eye level. 

“Angel, sweetheart, no. I don’t expect anything from you. You’re not here to continue the family line, or a legacy, or anything. You’re here because you’re my child and because I love you. You just being here is enough for me. You’ll always be enough, just the way you are. Nothing has changed, except that I now know you better and I can help you grow into your true self. I need you to know you can always come to me. Always. You can go to any of your siblings if you’d prefer that, but I’m always here for you, no matter what.” 

Damian was in tears now. “How can you be okay with this – with _me_ – so easily? How can you accept it just like that?” 

Father’s eyes were glistening and he was wearing a pained expression. “Because this changes nothing. Nothing. You’re still my child, and you always will be. And besides, I wasn’t born male either.” 

“Oh.” 

Father chuckled wetly. “Yeah, oh. But even if that weren’t the case, I would have accepted you regardless. Always.” Father dragged his thumb over Damian’s cheek, softly, gently, as if he were a frightened animal ready to bolt at the smallest hint of danger. “I love you.” 

“I- I love you too, baba.” 

Father smiled. “Do you want to change your name? And pronouns?” 

Damian mirrored his expression. “I would like to be called Damian from now on. And I want to use he/him pronouns.” 

The smile brightened. “Of course, son.” 

He stood up, but not before giving Damian a last caress on the cheek. He turned to his computer and started typing vigorously. 

“Father? What are you doing?” Damian had stood up as well, and was inching closer, trying to take a peek at the screen. 

“Changing your birth records.” 

“What?” 

“Well, I thought you wouldn’t want your deadname or that F on there. So I’m changing it to Damian and male. That’s what we did when I came out to Alfred, way back when.” 

Damian was stunned. “Just like that?” 

Father smiled warmly. “Just like that. What good is the Wayne name if I can’t use it to help my children?” 

Damian’s smile was wobbly and so was his voice when he flung himself at Father, dropping the frog, and said, muffled through the fabric of Father’s sweater, “Thank you, Father.” 

Father manoeuvred Damian until he was sat comfortably on his lap, his arms finding their place around Damian’s shoulders. They were warm and steady and safe. Damian rested his head against Father’s chest and relaxed. How could he ever have thought Father would react badly? 

Father answered, the deep rumble of his voice soothing, lulling him to sleep. 

“Of course, Damian. Always. I’m proud of you, son.” 

Damian drifted off as his tears dried, a hand carding through his hair, and he knew he had nothing to worry about. 

* * *

Damian was sitting at his desk, mapping out a drawing of Titus in pencil, when his bedroom door flew open. His four siblings plus Brown piled in. 

“Dami!” Grayson exclaimed. “Let’s go!” 

Damian quickly covered his sketch before anyone could see it. He didn’t like having people look at his art without his permission. “To where? Is there an emergency?” 

“There sure is!” Brown was suddenly standing in front of him, arms raised dramatically, like she was a popstar who’d just finished singing a hit. “A fashionmergency!” 

“That is not a word,” Damian pouted. 

“Maybe not, but this situation is.” 

Damian arched an eyebrow at her, and the menagerie of siblings behind her. “This situation being...?” 

Brown gasped. “How do you not know of this sacred tradition?!” She threw her hands and eyes up to the heavens. “I can’t believe you didn’t educate him, Dick. I thought you were supposed to be the mom friend. Moms take you shopping.” 

“I would like to point out only half of us have living moms.” 

“Shut up, Tim.” 

“I still have no clue what you’re pertaining to.” 

Brown turned back to Damian. “Shopping, of course. It’s tradition that when a bat comes out, we all go shopping.” 

“She’s right, Dami,” Grayson chimed in. “It started when I came out to B, the first time as trans when I was twelve, and then bi when I started dating Wally at sixteen. Later, Jason came out and we just kind of kept it going.” 

“You took me to that awful 80s store,” Drake complained, as he often did. “You come out as gay _and_ trans and your dumb brother takes you to a store with clothing only he likes.” 

Grayson held up a finger pretentiously. “I’ll have you know that was an _excellent_ store and you just don’t have any sense of fashion.” 

“You had a mullet,” Drake deadpanned. 

Grayson’s raised finger deflated. Todd smacked him on the shoulder. “Damn, he got you there, Goldie. You know, if I were around at that time, I would’ve totally beaten you at taking Timmy to actually fun stores.” 

“Maybe so, but _someone_ couldn’t stay alive to do so,” Grayson shot back, rubbing his bruising shoulder. 

“Wow, Dick, I can’t believe you would say that to me. I’m so hurt,” Todd said, sounding utterly unhurt. 

“Are you done so we can go?” Damian tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. 

“Aww, you’re excited!” 

“I am not excited, Brown. I just want this to be over as soon as possible and considering you are all as stubborn as an ox, it’s no use trying to get out of it.” 

Damian elbowed his way to the door (“Hey!” “Shut up, Drake.), trusting his idiotic family members would follow him. 

Brown bounded up next to him, wearing a stupidly wide grin. “So, Dami, what are you most excited for at the mall?” 

Damian was not in the mood for her games. “Why are we really going?” 

Brown feigned innocence. “What do you mean?” 

“I know there is an ulterior motive. People don’t just... take others to do an activity when they come out.” 

Brown frowned. “Well, yes, they do. We are just doing this because it’s fun. But you’re right, it’s not just that.” Before Damian could gloat, she went on. “I just thought, you might like some new clothes. You know. More fitting ones. When I came out, Cass and Babs took me shopping in the women’s section. Just thought it would be nice for you to be able to go to the boys’ section with us for the first time. It’s not as scary that way.” 

Damian opened his mouth but she rambled on. “Alfred is buying you new clothes, of course, but we thought maybe you’d like to choose some yourself. We want you to feel comfortable with what you wear. Clothes are an expression of the self. We'd like to help you on your path."

"Oh. Thanks.” 

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “You’re welcome, Dami.” 

They reached the hall, and Damian opened the front door. 

“Wait!” Grayson called out, grabbing Damian by the collar, yanking him back before he could take a step out of the door. “We need to put on disguises!” 

“I am _not_ wearing some stupid disguise.” 

“Do you want to be recognised by the paparazzi then?” 

If looks could kill, Drake would have been incinerated on the spot. Alas, Damian did not have heat vision, so Drake stayed intact. A shame. 

Unfortunately, he did have a point. 

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “But only because I would like to delay my inevitable coming out to the press as long as possible.” 

Grayson threw open the Disguise Closet near the front door. Father and Pennyworth had installed it a few years ago, after one too many times of being spotted by the paparazzi while Grayson was out with West. The headlines had spoken of the then-new couple for days after the two of them had been seen in an upscale restaurant. Grayson had had a miserable time, ducking away in alleys to avoid reporters seeking an exclusive interview with the oldest Wayne boy who’d suddenly turned gay. 

(“I didn’t _turn_ gay,” Grayson had complained while he was recounting the story to Damian. “I always was! Well, I’m bi, but you get it.”) 

So. Disguise Closet. 

Grayson pulled out a few hats, coats and scarves. He began distributing them to all the family members. Damian got handed a particularly ugly hat. It was purple and orange, an atrocious colour combination, in his artist opinion. 

“Oh, no thanks, Dick,” Brown declined. “I’m a nobody, remember? No disguise necessary for me.” 

“You’re known to be friends with the Wayne, though,” Drake pointed out. “And my ex-girlfriend.” 

“Ah, fuck, you really think people still remember me from that? We’re not even dating anymore ever since you realised you were gay. Can’t they go bother Kon or something?” 

“You know how the paps are,” Todd shrugged. “No regards for privacy.” 

Brown groaned. “Ugh, I hate that you’re right.” 

Cain waggled her eyebrows and held up a purple scarf. Brown accepted it and wound it around her neck. 

“Well, at least it’s winter,” Grayson mused. “The scarfs and hats would be hard to explain otherwise. Or we’d have to wear wigs.” 

Drake held up a brown wig between the tips of his index finger and thumb, as if it were a rabid animal. Damian supposed it did look a little like a large rat. 

“Thank God,” Drake shuddered. “This thing looks older than Alfred.” 

“Actually, it’s from Alfred’s time as actor, so you’re not far off there, Timmy,” Grayson replied cheerily. 

Drake dropped the wig. 

Ten minutes later saw the Waynes plus Brown all decked out in various disguises, ready to go. 

“For the record, I’m only wearing this so I won’t have to explain why a dead man is walking around. If a picture of me in this ridiculous scarf and awful hat somehow gets sent to Roy and Kory, I’m blaming you, Bitchard, and my revenge will not know mercy,” Todd grumbled, pulling a red beanie over his head, effectively hiding the white streak in his hair. 

“Don’t you mean ‘My revenge will not be swift’?” Drake asked. 

“Actually, no, I did not. You forget you’re talking to the resident literature nerd, nerd, I know what I’m doing. If ol’ Willy Shakes could make up idioms, so can I.” 

“Did you just-” 

“Refer to Shakespeare with Willy Shakes? Yes, why thank you for asking. How do you know we’re not friends? He’s dead, I was dead, we could’ve met in heaven.” 

“Do you even remember the afterlife?” 

“You don’t know my life, blondie. Or death, I guess.” Todd looked around, finding everyone staring at him. “What are you looking at? Are we getting a move on or not? I’ve got more to do today.” 

He did not. Damian had hacked into his phone earlier that week. It was Wednesday today. His schedule this week went as followed: 

_Monday: Date with Roy (pick up sunflowers) - 19:00_

_Tuesday: Avoid B (have Roy patch up Batmobile before Sunday) - all day_

_Wednesday: Feed raccoons living near apartment – 10:00_

_Thursday: Have tea with Alfred – 12:00_

_Friday: Bully Tim into asking Babs to do research on gang – 03:00_

_Saturday: Give Tim’s boyfriend the shovel talk (note to self: "borrow” Kryptonite from cave) – 02:00-07:00_  
_Get blackmail material on Tim from Tim’s boyfriend 07:00-13:00_

_Sunday: Attend family dinner (bring fireproof clothing in case Dick tries to cook) - 21:00_

Conclusion: he was making shit up. 

Cain shrugged, or as much as she was capable of under the thick coat she was wearing (Grayson went a bit overboard on the layers) and pushed open the door. “Let’s go.” 

“I’m driving!” Todd and Grayson yelled at the same time. 

Grayson shook his head as they all followed Cain outside. “Jason, you’re legally dead. How are we gonna explain why you don’t have a license if we get pulled over?” 

“We’re Waynes, and this system is corrupt, I’m sure we can pull something.” 

Grayson levelled Todd with a stare. 

“Fine,” Todd relented. “But I’m sitting shotgun.” 

And he took off. 

“Hey!” Drake yelled and started sprinting after him. “False start!” 

Brown cursed. “I’m never getting that aux cord now. Damn it, Jason.” 

Damian fell into step next to her. “I do not understand why it matters. It’s merely a twenty-minute ride. Four of us are going to have to sit in the back anyway. We’re with too many to take a regular car and since this is a covert operation-” 

“Anonymous outing, Damian.” 

“-we’re taking the van and not one of the limousines. It’s just a seat, who cares?” 

“Damian, you don’t understand.” Brown’s voice was more serious than Damian had ever heard. “It’s about getting to choose the music. You don’t wanna know what I’ve heard Tim put on. Three words: Mongolian throat singing.” She shuddered and looked in the distance wistfully. Her spirit seemed to be far, far away. “Never again.” 

Damian decided not to ask. Fortunately for him, they’d reached the car and he would never have to think about that sequence of words again. 

In the end, Cain got the passenger seat and both Drake and Todd were banished to the very back of the car. With Grayson driving and Damian and Brown in the middle seats, they were good to go. Cain chose a channel with classical music. Damian could respect that. He shuddered to think about what atrocities Drake would have played. 

Grayson looked back. “Have you all got your seatbelts on?” 

A chorus of groans. 

“ _Yes_.” 

“Of course.” 

“Do we seem stupid to yo- no, don’t answer that.” 

“You’re such a mom.” 

“Does Wally know you basically have five children already?” 

“The fact that you even have to _ask_ , Grayson.” 

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ I’m looking out for your safety and would rather none of you get catapulted through a window in case of an accident!” 

That shut them up. 

Grayson turned back to the wheel, a satisfied smirk playing at his mouth. “Thought so.” 

They drove in silence for a while, until Brown spoke up. “How are we paying for this, actually?” 

Todd leaned over the back of the seat to shoot her a sly grin. He held up a golden card. “I may or may not have nicked B’s credit card. Maybe.” 

Brown let out a surprised laugh. “This is why you’re my favourite not-brother.” 

Grayson gasped. “I take offense to that!” 

“Take that, Goldie,” Todd gloated. 

“Cass, tell them I’m the best!” 

Cain smiled innocently. “Sorry, Dick. Tim is my favourite.” 

Grayson gasped even louder. “Betrayal! Dami, tell me I’m still your favourite!” 

Damian caught Grayson’s gaze in the mirror. “I would kill a man for you, Grayson.” 

Grayson blinked. “I appreciate the sentiment, but please don’t.” 

“I would defy Father for you.” 

“Aww, Dami, that’s so sweet,” Grayson cooed. 

Todd threw his beanie toward Grayson’s head. “Don’t be a sap.” 

“Hey! No throwing things while I’m driving! And you better put that hat on again when we arrive. And sit in your seat properly.” 

“Okay, _mom_.” 

“Half of us don’t even have a mom!” 

“Well, good thing you’re here to substitute then.” 

“Jay, I swear-” 

Damian felt a nudge at his shoulder. Drake was sitting in the seat behind him, poking Damian. 

“What.” 

“Hey, if we’re being too loud, just say it, okay?” 

“Why would I- how dare you insinuate I can’t handle-” Damian spluttered. 

Drake held his hands up defensively. “Hey, I know how much sensory overload sucks. None of us mind accommodating, okay? Don’t be afraid to ask.” 

Damian crossed his arms. “Fine.” 

Drake settled back into his seat, joining in on the conversation. After a while, Damian spoke up. 

“Drake.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem, Dames.” 

“We’re here!” Grayson called out, killing the engine. Everyone piled out of the car, Grayson with Todd’s beanie in hand. He immediately stalked over to Todd, who attempted to run away, and miserably failed. 

“Ugh, is this really necessary?” Todd grumbled as Grayson pulled the hat over his head, making sure to cover the white in his hair. 

“Yes, Jason, unless you want to explain why you’re not six feet under.” 

“The white is so attention grabbing, why don’t you just dye it?” Drake asked, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“Hey, this is a badge of honour. I died to get this look, I’m not covering it up. And Roy says it’s hot, so,” Todd said, as if Roy Harper’s opinion on his hair was final. 

“It makes you look like a skunk.” 

“Yes, thank you, Ca- wait, hey!” 

She just smiled and linked her arm with Brown, walking off toward the mall entrance. 

The rest followed, Todd grumbling but wearing his beanie nonetheless. “I hate this fucking family.” 

He brightened when they entered a store and he spotted a stack of shirts. “Oh, this is beautiful.” He grabbed a shirt and dashed to a dressing room. “I’ll be right back.” 

Drake jutted a thumb toward the back of the store. “I’m going to get some hoodies.” 

“Ugh, Tim, please tell me they’re not going to be just black,” Brown complained, latching on to him. 

Cain joined them, nodding. “You always wear black hoodies.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry if my fashion sense isn’t up to your standards, I didn’t realise I was being evaluated here.” 

“I swear I’m gonna make you buy something colourful today, or it’s the last thing I do,” Brown vowed. 

They walked off just as Todd came out of the dressing room. He was wearing a red long sleeve with the phrase “sun’s out, guns out” printed on the front in black. A row of rifles ran along each sleeve from shoulder to wrist. 

Grayson made a sound somewhere in between a laugh and a choke. “Bruce is gonna get an aneurysm.” 

“That’s the point,” Todd grinned. 

Grayson turned to Damian. “Hey, I’ve got to go somewhere alone real quick, you stay with Jason, okay?” 

“I can handle myself, Grayson. I’m not a child.” 

“Actually-” 

“Shut up, Todd.” 

“I know you can, Damian, but in general people don’t leave their ten year olds unattended in stores. The employees might ask questions.” 

Damian nodded seriously. “So it’s to keep our cover.” 

“Uh, yes, exactly.” 

“Alright then. I shall stay with Todd until you return.” 

“Great, I’ll be back soon, play nice both of you.” And he was off. 

Damian turned to Todd, who was going through the rack of T-shirts. Every once in a while, he seemed to have found something to his liking and added it to the bundle over his arm. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like? I’m getting you all stupid shirts.” 

“You’re buying everyone one?” 

“B’s paying for it, I can splurge.” Todd held up a bright purple shirt with the phrase “my eyes are down here” on it. “See, this is weird as shit, it’s perfect for Steph.” 

Damian wasn’t sure what it meant, but he wasn’t going to ask. “Sure, Todd.” 

Todd continued picking out T-shirts while Damian looked on, and soon Grayson returned. He gestured for Damian and Todd to follow him. 

“Jay, come quick! The skirts are on sale!” 

Todd joined him in front of the display. “Oh, sweet. I’ve been wanting to get myself a new red one after Roy accidentally set it on fire. Hey, Timbo,” He called out to Drake, who was inspecting a hoodie nearby. “Didn’t you say your little speedster friend liked wearing skirts? It’s a three for one deal, we can all pick one.” 

“He does, great idea, Jay.” 

“Of course, I’m a genius.” 

Drake ignored him. “Is there something yellow or orange?” 

Damian watched them discuss skirt colours, feeling weirdly out of place. He approached the stand. A fresh green caught his eye, similar to the colour of Robin’s gauntlets and boots. He brushed his hand over the fabric. It was soft to the touch. It had been a while since he’d worn a skirt. Skirts weren’t very practical in the field and the last gala, during which he wore a dress, had been a couple months ago. 

Brown was suddenly standing next to him. He hadn’t even noticed her approaching. 

“Do you want it?” She asked, no judgment shining through in her voice. “The skirt, I mean. You know you’re allowed to, right? Even if you’re a boy.” 

Damian hesitated, but eventually shook his head. This new him was too fresh, too delicate. He knew he’d have to grow more comfortable with this body before he could attempt to wear something feminine coded. He could now recognise the discomfort with certain words, certain pieces of clothing he’d felt all his life, now that Grayson had explained the concept of dysphoria to him. “No. I wouldn’t be able to right now. But maybe someday.” 

Brown grinned and trapped him with an arm around his neck, ruffling his hair rather roughly (seriously, what was it with her and hair ruffles?). “Proud of you, Dames.” 

He wrestled out of her grip with a squawk. “Unhand me, you cretin!” 

Her laughter followed him through the store as he ran away from her treacherous hands. 

He was inspecting some pants when Cain skipped up to him, holding a garment in her hands. 

“Greetings, Cain,” Damian said, and she did something he had never seen her do. She flinched. 

Damian frowned. “What is it? Is there a threat? Do I need to inform Grayson?” 

She shook her head. “No. No danger. Just...” 

“Then tell me what’s wrong, Cain.” 

She flinched again. “That. That’s wrong. I’m Wayne.” 

“What?” 

“My name. It’s Wayne now. Cain was my father.” Something seemed to both harden and crumble behind her eyes. “David Cain was my father. I am not him. I am Cassandra Wayne.” 

Damian recognised that name. He had seen it in League files from time to time, and once on the Batcomputer before Drake had shooed him away to do some work. David Cain had done despicable things. Damian didn’t want to associate that man with his sister. His sister was warmth and safety and _family_. She was full of compassion and kindness, good to all creatures, human or not. She wasn’t like that cold-hearted killer. She’d actively worked to be better, to be good. And if she could address Damian with _his_ chosen name, he could do the same for her. 

“I shall call you Cassandra then. Is that acceptable?” 

Cassandra’s eyes turned warm and tiny crinkles appeared next to them. She didn’t say anything, just threw her arms around Damian’s shoulders. Damian let her. He supposed he didn’t mind getting embraced by his sister, for her sake. Grayson had told him hugs were healing once. Damian had never seen any proof of that in all the medical research he had done, but he trusted Grayson. 

Damian put his arms around her. “I’m assuming that means it is.” 

“Thank you, Damian.” 

“Did you come to me for something specific?” 

Cassandra held up the garment. It was a green button up with a black cat peeking out of the chest pocket. “For you.” 

Damian was taken aback for a moment. “That’s... very thoughtful of you, Cassandra.” He took the shirt from her. “I shall try it on immediately.” 

He quickly found a dressing room and shed the layers of disguise Grayson had forced upon him earlier, replacing them with the button up. He examined himself in the mirror. It was a different cut than the clothing he usually wore, which he ascribed to this coming from the boys’ section. It was slightly squarer than he was used to. He decided he liked it. 

“Damian?” Cassandra called out to him through the curtain. “Are you done? Can I see?” 

Damian pulled away the curtain. Cassandra gave him a thumbs up. “Looks good!” 

Grayson walked up to them, a pile of clothing in his arms. “Hey, Dami, how’s it going?” 

Damian gestured to his torso. “Cassandra got me this. What do you think?” 

Grayson definitely noticed the change in name, but didn’t comment. “I think you look great! Do you like button ups? I saw a whole section of them earlier, let’s go.” 

Grayson scooped Damian up as soon as the latter nodded, setting him on his shoulders. Damian chuckled at his brother’s enthusiasm. “Grayson, I need to change back into my own clothes still.” 

“Oh right. Whoops.” Grayson crouched so Damian could jump off. “Hey, no flips in public!” 

“Sorry, Grayson,” Damian grinned, ducking into the changing room. When he came back out, he climbed on top of Grayson again. “Why do you insist on carrying me any chance you get?” 

“Mostly just because I like it, to be honest. I want to take advantage of you still being small. Jay is too big to carry now and Tim only lets me every once in a while. I can carry Cass, but honestly, she could carry me as well. Speaking of.” Grayson turned to Cassandra. “Do you want to come with?” 

Cassandra shook her head and jutted her thumb in the other direction. “I’m going to Steph and Tim.” 

“Okay, see you later!” Grayson began walking away and Damian twisted around to call out to Cassandra’s retreating form. 

“Cassandra.” 

She halted and turned around. 

“Thank you.” 

She just grinned and signed “you’re welcome” at him before disappearing behind a clothing rack. 

Damian and Grayson had arrived at the section with button ups, so Grayson allowed Damian to slide off his shoulders. Damian once again noticed the mountain of clothes Grayson was carrying. 

“What are those clothes in your arms?” 

“Oh this? This is just some stuff for Wally. He likes neon and pastels.” Grayson held up one of the garments. It was an atrocious blouse with ruffles, pastel purple with bright green polka dots. “I’m sure he’ll love this!” 

Damian made a face, eyeing Grayson’s electric blue/tangerine orange diagonally striped sweater. 

“You two truly are made for each other.” 

Grayson smiled dopily. “We are, aren’t we?” 

Damian rolled his eyes and hid a smile. “Let’s go, Grayson. You’re smitten.” 

“Yup!” Grayson took off, trusting Damian to follow him. The two of them browsed the racks for a while, Grayson pulling out various button ups for Damian to try, all with disgusting patterns and colours. Damian should have Father shut this place down, these clothes were simply atrocious. While the two of them were looking around, their siblings had slowly circled back to them until they were all in roughly the same area. 

Grayson had just handed Damian a shirt in a garish orange when someone tapped Grayson on the shoulder. A man with ginger hair and a Daily Planet badge was standing behind them. 

“Sir, are you perchance Richard Grayson?” 

Grayson froze momentarily, not having expected to be recognised, before slipping into a persona. He shot the man a lazy smile and a wink. “Ah, I’m sorry to disappoint, my name’s Gray Richardson, though I’ve been told we look alike. He’s a very handsome man. Have a good day!” He then tipped his non-existing hat and speed walked away to where his siblings were standing. 

Todd elbowed him with a smirk. “Gray Richardson? Really?” 

Grayson flushed and batted his arm away. “Shut up, I panicked.” 

Cassandra clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Where did your acting skills go?” 

“I panicked!” 

Brown sidled up to him. “Ooh, was that flirting I saw, Mr. Richardson? What would your boyfriend say?” 

“He had red hair as well, exactly your type,” Drake commented. 

Grayson groaned. “Stop it, you guys. I already said I panicked! And we’re engaged, thank you very much.” 

“It’s okay, Grayson. West shall not hear of this infidelity, I will make sure of it,” Damian reassured him. 

“Uh. Thanks... I think?” Grayson stood there silently for a moment, as if contemplating what he’d done wrong in life to get to this point. “...anyway. Are we all done here?” 

Everyone affirmed, so Grayson led the charge to the register, his younger siblings following him like ducklings their mother. After they’d all paid, they exited the store and walked around the mall for a bit, occasionally sticking their head in a store to see if there was anything to their liking. They got some cheap McDonald’s milkshakes to sip on while walking, but none of them were interested in going into a particular store. 

Todd yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’m beat. I’m ready to call it quits, how ‘bout you guys?” 

Damian was about to agree with him, when something bright and colourful caught his eye. There was a huge sign of a paintbrush hanging above the entrance of some store. He halted in his tracks. Grayson, who was walking behind him, bumped into his back. 

“Uh, Dami? Why’d you stop?” 

Damian nodded toward the art store. “I wish to go into that store.” 

Grayson looked. “The arts and crafts store? You like drawing?” 

Damian nodded. “May I go?” 

“Of course you can go, though we can’t come with while we’ve still got our drinks and we can’t exactly have a ten year old walk around with a platinum credit card.” 

“I’m done with mine, I can go with him,” Drake offered, throwing away his empty cup in a nearby trashcan. 

“Really? You’d do that for me? Are you sure?” Damian asked, not believing Drake willingly being alone with him. 

Drake merely shrugged. “Yeah, why not? You can’t murder me out of costume in the middle of the mall, anyway.” 

“Then I accept your offer.” Damian didn’t wait for an answer, just turned around and entered the store, not waiting to see if Drake was following him. He wandered the racks, not sure what he was looking for. He hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular, he’d just wanted to see what they had. He’d just been using grey pencils and ballpoint pens on loose sheets of paper he’d found around the manor, but now he found himself lingering in front of the racks with oil paints. It was tempting, but he probably shouldn’t... 

“What is it? Did you see something you want?” Drake had caught up to him, it seemed. 

Damian didn’t turn to look at him when he answered. “I’ve always wanted to try oils, but it would be a waste to spend Father’s money on that.” 

“What? Why?” Drake sounded confused. 

“The arts serve no purpose beyond short-lived cheap entertainment. It is not a practical skill for in the field.” 

“Damian.” Drake’s voice was weirdly soft and gentle. “You don’t have to justify having a hobby. Sometimes you just do things because you enjoy doing them and it makes you happy. My skateboarding started out as something for a mission, but I grew to enjoy it and I still do it, but not because it’s practical. I do it just for fun. I’m sure Bruce would be happy to pay for art supplies. His mother was a painter too, did you know that?” 

Damian shook his head. “I didn’t.” He hesitated briefly. “Do you really think Father wouldn’t mind?” 

Drake smiled. “Of course not.” 

“Okay.” 

“Let’s get you some nice oil paints, shall we?” 

Damian spent the next fifteen minutes picking out various supplies needed for oil painting. Drake didn’t know what he was doing at all, but Damian could forgive him for it this once. Good thing Damian had done plenty of research. They eventually walked up to the register with an assortment of primary colours, paint thinner, brushes and a stack of paper. Drake fished Father’s credit card out of his pocket and paid. The cashier handed Damian a paper bag with his things and the two of them exited the store together. They found the others waiting for them on a bench nearby. United again, they started making their way to the mall exit, Damian finding himself walking next to Grayson. 

“Hey, Grayson?” 

“Hm?” 

“Where did you go when you left me with Todd earlier today?” 

“Oh, right.” Grayson dug into his pocket, handing Damian a bracelet. “I went to the pride section. I thought you might like, I don’t know, an encouragement.” When Damian looked at him in confusion, he quickly added, “It’s the trans pride flag. Pink for transfems, blue for transmascs and white for everything not in those two categories, like nonbinary genders.” 

Nonbinary. Damian wasn’t familiar with that term. He’d have to do some research later. 

Grayson continued talking. “Bruce got me a trans bracelet when I first came out, and it really helped me. I thought it could do the same for you.” 

Damian accepted the bracelet and Grayson helped him tie it around his left wrist. When the know was secure, Damian looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you, Grayson.” 

Grayson slung his arm around Damian’s shoulder in a half hug. “You’re welcome, little brother.” 

Damian walked out of the mall, surrounded by chattering siblings, a pile of scarves over his shoulders and a dumb, too large hat sagging over his eyes, weighed down by a bunch of paper bags filled with clothes and art supplies. It was the lightest he’d ever felt. 

* * *

_11 years old_

He’d begun to grow breasts. He despised it, but it was happening. He’d known it was coming, of course. He had been educated by the finest teachers in the world, he knew all about puberty and its effects on the body. That didn’t mean he’d been prepared for this... this _feeling_. There was a constant itch under his skin, a forever discomfort crawling through him, like bugs had invaded his body and were now swarming through it, leaving him feeling like his body wasn’t his own anymore. 

He needed to do something about this. 

Which is why he was standing in front of Drake’s room, fist raised to knock on the door. It swung open after a few seconds, revealing his... brother, he supposed. Drake looked terrible. The bags under his eyes were dark as ever and his hair was a mess, half matted to his face, half standing upright. Pennyworth would not approve. 

“Damian? What are you doing here?” Drake suppressed a yawn, and shit, had Damian woken him up? Everyone knew not to wake up Drake, with his terrible insomnia induced sleeping habits. 

“I wanted to ask you for advice. Did I wake you? I do not wish to disturb.” 

Drake waved his concerns away. “No, no, it’s fine. Come in.” 

Drake stuck his head back into his room and disappeared, leaving Damian no choice but to follow him. Drake had already plopped back on his bed when the door fell shut. “So, what did you need?” 

Damian squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. He may have come here out of his own volition, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed opening up to Drake of all people. “I... have issues concerning my chest. I was wondering... if you could help.” 

“You mean...” Drake’s voice trailed off as he gestured to his own chest. Damian nodded. 

“Yeah. That.” 

Drake frowned, confused. “Why did you come to me? Why not Dick, or Jason? I thought you hated me.” 

“Grayson has had surgery. Todd the Lazarus Pit. They do not experience this anymore, you do. You understand. And I do not... not like you.” 

Drake smiled, a tinge of surprise swirling in the whirlpool of unexpected kindness in his eyes. “Okay then. Come here.” 

Damian raised a brow. “To do... what exactly?” 

Drake’s smile turned into a grin. “We’re getting you a binder, obviously.” 

“We are?” 

Damian did not know what a “binder” was, but if Drake thought it would help, he’d try it. He went over to Drake, who had pulled out a tablet from who knew where, and sat down next to him on the bed. Drake pulled up a website and started babbling. 

“So I’m assuming you’d want a plain, subtle one, but we’re getting you multiple so you always have a clean one ready, and you can choose some funky ones as well. Oh, and it’s probably a good idea to get you some sport bras too, you can’t wear a binder on patrol, obviously, and- Damian? Are you listening?” 

Damian had been staring intently at the images on the page on Drake’s tablet, trying to figure out what this “binder” did exactly. Now, his head shot up to make quick eye contact with Drake, before he averted his gaze again. He wasn’t a fan of eye contact. Fortunately, Drake was like him and didn’t mind not being looked at directly. 

“I am. I was just wondering... what’s a binder?” 

Drake face palmed. “Oh, so _that’s_ what I was forgetting. Yeah, makes sense that you don’t know what that is. Trans resources 101 probably wasn’t on the League’s curriculum.” A wry grin. “I’ll show you.” 

He shoved the tablet into Damian’s hands and pushed himself off the bed and walked over to his closet, pulling a garment out of a drawer. He held it up in the air proudly. It looked simple, just a plain black piece of cloth. “This is it. I’ll show you what it does.” Drake twirled his finger in the air. “Turn around for a sec.” 

Damian complied and averted his gaze as he heard the rustling of fabric behind him. 

“Okay, you can look.” 

Drake had replaced his Superboy shirt with the garment. It had no sleeves and covered his chest area. Drake turned sideways. “See? It helps make me flat.” He walked back to the bed and sat down across from Damian, legs crossed. “It’s to suppress my boobs and it relieves my chest dysphoria. There are dangers to it, it can hurt me if I wear it for too long, and there’s no way to make it entirely safe, but it’s all I have for now.” 

Damian spoke up. “I’m sure Father can arrange you to get surgery, like Grayson. I don’t think he would mind.” 

Drake smiled wistfully. “Thanks, Dames, but I can’t right now. Recovery takes a long time, and I don’t have that right now. But yeah. Maybe later. That would be nice.” He changed topics. “You don’t have asthma, or any other lung or rib problems, right?” 

Damian shook his head in no. 

“Then you should be fine, as long as you only wear a sports bra on patrol and during missions. It helps to compress better than a regular bra, but it isn’t dangerous like a binder can be while straining yourself. It’s also just better for exercise in general.” 

He shuffled on the bed until he was sat next to Damian again, taking his tablet back. “Like I said, you should probably get multiple. That way, you always have a clean one. We’ll get you a plain black one and a skin tone one. Do you want to choose some with a pattern or funky colours?” 

He handed the tablet to Damian. Damian scrolled for a while, inspecting every option carefully. This was not something he was taking lightly. If Drake were correct, this could be the tool to relieve the discomfort. He wanted nothing more. 

Damian clicked on another option. This one was a pleasant pastel green with a pattern of black and white spotted cats on it. They kind of reminded him of Alfred. He paused, not clicking on the next one just yet, finger hovering above the screen. 

“What is it?” Drake asked. Damian wouldn’t admit it, but he startled. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the room. “Did you see something you like?” 

Damian nodded, holding out the tablet when Drake made grabby hands for it. “Lemme see- ooh, kitties, good choice. Okay, we’ll get you this one as well, plus some sport bras. Do you know your size?” 

Damian shook his head. 

“That’s fine, just go to Alfred, he can help you measure. We’ll order as soon as we’ve got that information.” 

Drake yawned, reminding Damian he’d woken him up from his much-needed nap. He pushed himself off the bed. 

“I’ll let you get back to sleep.” 

Damian opened the door, but hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Drake,” He called out softly. Drake turned around to look at him. “Why did you agree to help me?” 

Drake’s face softened, and he slid off the bed to walk over to Damian, awkwardly hovering around him. 

“Damian, you’re my little brother. Of course I’d help you with this. I know first-hand how much chest dysphoria sucks. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all someone in my family.” 

Family. 

Yeah. That sounded right. 

Damian tried to form words, but for some reason they seemed to get stuck in his throat. “I- Thank you, Timothy. I appreciate your help.” Damian nodded stiffly. 

Drake’s stupid face broke out in a stupid smile as he reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair with his stupid hand. “You’re welcome, Babybat.” 

Damian walked off as he heard the door close quietly behind him, a slight spring in his step. 

When the binders arrived, Damian once again asked Drake for help, this time with less hesitance in his voice. 

He tried them on with Drake’s assistance. The size was of course perfect, thanks to Pennyworth. 

“Hey, Dami, do a twirl for me.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, but did what Drake asked. Drake was nodding approvingly when he was facing him again, hands on his hips. 

“Well? How’s it feel?” 

Damian smiled. “Wonderful.” 

* * *

_12 years old_

As soon as Jason stepped into his apartment, he knew he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know how he knew exactly, but something felt... off. 

He silently slid his gun from its holster and made sure his helmet was still secure. Who knew who - or what - could’ve snuck in? He tried to think of any potential intruders, but could find none. He wasn’t working any big cases at the moment and he and the rest of the bats had rounded up all the men from that one large drug bust last week so there shouldn’t be anyone out for revenge for him at the moment, though you never knew. Maybe it was just a petty thief, but he could never be certain, so guns out it was. 

He crept through his apartment, expertly avoiding the floorboards he knew creaked. He turned the corner into the living room and froze. 

There was a shivering lump under a blanket on his couch. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to realise Jason was there, or at least it didn’t react to Jason’s presence. 

Jason slowly approached it, gun still drawn but lowered slightly. He didn’t think it was a threat, or it would’ve jumped him already. 

“Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment,” He demanded when he stood in front of the couch. The lump shifted and Jason gripped the gun tighter, just in case. The blanket fell away and under it was someone Jason wasn’t expecting to see at 3 a.m. in his apartment. 

“Demon Brat?” 

Damian was laying on his coach, most of his body concealed by his cape. He grunted lightly but didn’t say anything. Strange. Usually Damian would’ve thrown a quip or a punch at him already. He’d mellowed out a little the past few years, but still. Jason wasn’t exactly his favourite brother. 

“What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to patrol with Dick tonight?” 

“Split up,” Damian mumbled. “Agreed to go back separately. I... couldn’t make it.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Damian groaned and shifted. His cape fell away. His pants and part of his tunic were darker than usual. They had a wet sheen. 

“Is that _blood_?” 

“Tt. Of course it’s blood, Todd. I thought you of all people would know how to recognize that.” 

Even while potentially bleeding out on Jason’s dingy couch Damian sneered. Of course. 

Jason searched him, looking for wounds. He wasn’t Alfred, but he’d learned his fair share over the years. He could patch the kid up and send him on his way. 

“Did you get stabbed? Shot?” 

“It’s not mine, Todd. Well, it is. It’s... not from a wound.” 

“What do you- _oh_.” 

“Yeah. _Oh,_ ” Damian bit back, then groaned in pain again. 

The panic melted off Jason’s face and made place for something softer. So the kid had gotten his first period and instead of calling Dickface he’d decided to crash at Jason’s. The thought made his chest feel oddly warm. He and Damian were on good terms now, but they’d never been particularly close. Sure, when the brat had come out, he’d been there for him and ready to beat up anyone who’d give him shit for it, but he’d never had a relationship with him the way Dick did. 

“I know, it sucks. Wait here.” 

Jason turned around and jogged to the bathroom, a faint call of “what else would I do” trailing behind him. He rifled through the cabinet above the sink, pulling out a pad and a strip of paracetamol. The next stop was his bedroom. He grabbed his heating pad from under the unmade – Roy's fault – bed and went to walk out again, when his eye fell on one of the hoodies he’d stolen from Roy peeking out of the stuffed full drawer on his dresser. It was big on his boyfriend, so it fit Jason perfectly. He liked wearing comfy clothes while on his period. Maybe the kid would too. 

Regardless, he needed some clean clothes. 

Jason opened the dresser, brushing aside one of Roy’s stupid hats (It was a Batman one. He’d thought he’d been funny when he bought it. Idiot.) and dug through the ridiculous number of sleeveless tops and a few stray arrows until he found what he was looking for. 

Satisfied with his collection of items, he exited the room and returned to the living room after making a quick stop in the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Damian was still right where he’d left him, but curled up into a ball this time. He must be having cramps. 

Jason crouched down in front of the couch so they were on the same height. 

“Hey, kid,” He said, gently prodding the bat shaped ball. “I got you some stuff. C’mon.” 

“'m not a kid,” Damian mumbled, but unfurled anyway. 

Jason handed him the water and paracetamol. “Here, take this. It’ll help.” 

Damian didn’t protest and complied. “What now?” 

“Do you think you can take a shower? You must be caked in dirt and sweat and blood right now. I’d rather get as little as possible on my couch.” 

Damian scrunched up his nose. “Of course I can do something as mundane as take a shower. Who do you take me for, Drake?” 

Jason snorted. “I have to give you that, Timbers does forget to shower sometimes, but he also forgets to eat, or sleep, or dr- okay, I see your point.” 

Damian moved to hop off the couch, but winced and hunched over again, clutching his stomach. Jason sighed and stood up. He looped his arms around Damian’s torso (“Hey! What do you think you’re doing!”) and scooped him up, making his way over to the bathroom. 

“Relax, kid. You obviously can’t get there yourself, if you even know where the bathroom is.” 

Damian had stopped struggling and now dangled limply in Jason’s arms. He let out a huff. “Of course I know. I scoped out this entire place months ago.” 

Jason snorted. Of fucking course he did. 

Jason reached the bathroom and nudged open the door with his foot. He deposited the little demon on the mat and took out a pad from the basket by the toilet. 

“You go take a shower. The warm water will help with the cramps. Just put your costume and gear on the floor, I got you some clean clothes.” 

Damian nodded. Jason handed him the pad. “Here. It’s a pad. To, you know. Help with the bleeding.” 

Damian took it. He studied it, squinting at the tiny images on the packaging. “It has... illustrations of swords on it?” 

Jason shrugged. “I prefer it to the Venus symbol. Thought you would too.” 

“...thanks, Todd.” 

“Don’t mention it. Do you know how to use it?” 

“Tt. I can figure it out.” 

Jason ruffled his hair. “Sure you can, kiddo.” He handed him the set of clothes he’d gathered and left, closing the door behind him. He changed into pyjamas himself, heated up the heating pad, then sat down on his bed to wait until Damian was done. His phone buzzed and he took it out of his pocket. 

_Royboy_ _just got home night jaybird love you <33333 _

Jason smiled. Roy always sent him a goodnight text when they were away from each other. 

_You: Goodnight, Roy_

_You: Love you too <3 _

He went to turn off his phone, then realised he should maybe inform someone that Damian was unharmed and with him. He shot off a quick text to Dick. 

_You: The kid’s with me_

_You: He’s fine_

_Big Bird:_ _oh_ _thank god_ _i_ _was getting worried_

_Big Bird:_ _thanks_ _little wing <333 _

_You: It’s no big deal_

Jason hesitated, finger hovering over the button. Should he? He was on good terms with all his family members now, but still... 

_…_

Fuck it. 

_You: <3 _

Jason heard the shower stop, so he turned off his phone and returned to the bathroom after enough time had passed for Damian to have gotten dressed. He knocked on the door. 

“You done, kid?” 

An affirmative came through the door and Jason pushed it open. Damian was standing in the middle of the bathroom, drowning in Jason’s too big hoodie and sweatpants. (It was kind of adorable, but nobody tell Damian he thought that. He wasn’t keen on getting murdered again.) 

The kid was swaying on his feet from fatigue, but he was still trying to reach for his utility belt, which lay in a corner. 

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not going out again like this.” 

“Tt. I know that. I just wanted-” The brat cut off his words mid-sentence and crossed his arms. 

“What?” Jason asked. When the demon didn’t respond, he asked again, more insistently this time. “Seriously, tell me. What do you want?” 

Damian looked away and mumbled, “I wanted to get my fidget cube. The one Grayson gave me.” 

Oh. Jason’s face softened and he bent down to retrieve the belt. “Which compartment?” 

Damian looked surprised for a moment, then his expression morphed back into stoicism. “Second one on the right.” 

Jason fished the cube in question out of the pouch and dropped the belt on the floor to be dealt with later. He handed it to Damian, who accepted it with a grateful nod and immediately started fidgeting with it. Jason gave him a gentle push toward the door. 

“Come on, you’re going to sleep.” 

Damian shook his head. “I should go home. Grayson doesn’t know where I am and he’s sure to alert Father and Pennyworth of my absence.” 

“I already texted him. He’ll tell B and Alfie you’re here. It’s fine, just stay the night.” 

Damian hesitated, so Jason added, “Kid, it’s no big deal, really. Roy isn’t here right now anyway.” 

“I’m not a child,” Damian muttered, but he followed Jason to the bedroom anyway. 

Jason sat down on the bed and turned to Damian to usher him to do the same, when he noticed his hair was still dripping. “Did you not dry your hair or something? Did no one ever teach you to do that or what? You’d think Dickface would have you take care of your damn hair, the vain bitch he is.” 

Damian huffed. “Why do you care? It’s not your hair.” 

“I will not have you fucking soak my bed. Come here.” 

Damian opened his mouth to protest but Jason shushed him by putting a finger to his mouth. He was lucky the kid was more tired than normal, or he might’ve tried to bite Jason’s finger off. He dragged the boy down next to him on the bed. He snatched a towel from the dresser and started drying Damian’s hair, much to the boy’s protests. 

“This is not necessary, Todd. Let go of me.” 

Jason tsk-ed. “Has no one ever told you not to go to sleep with wet hair? This is Gotham, you’ll one hundred percent get a cold. You could’ve avoided this if you’d done it properly yourself, but you didn’t, so shut up and let me dry your hair.” 

Damian grumbled but stayed quiet and let Jason do his thing. Jason gently dried his hair – he wasn’t a dick, he wouldn’t be petty and pull at it, not while the kid was having cramps. 

Though he still ruffled Damian’s hair when he was done, just to bother him. He had a reputation as annoying big brother to uphold, after all. 

He dropped the towel on the floor, he could put it away later, when it wasn’t four in the goddamn morning. 

He turned off the lights and scooted further up the bed, nudging Damian with his foot to signal he come with. When he didn’t move, Jason spoke. 

“Damian, lay down. You need to sleep.” 

“I do not wish to take up your space.” 

Jason snorted. “Chill, Demon Brat. This bed is big enough for two, especially when one of those two is barely 5’4.” 

Damian grumbled but didn’t say anything else. Jason smirked. The kid knew Jason was right about his height. 

Jason got under the covers and lifted a corner in invitation. Damian’s baby face scrunched up in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I got you a heating pad, if you don’t want to, but... My, um.” Jason’s voice stuttered slightly. “My mom used to cuddle me until the pain went away, on her good days. I thought, maybe it’d help you too. You know. If you want to.” 

Damian was silent for a moment. Then, “Tt. You’re an idiot, Todd.” 

Oh. 

Jason dropped his arm, a bit dejected. It was fine. He wasn’t known to be the affectionate family member, and Damian and him didn’t have that kind of relationship anyway. 

Something shifted besides him, and a warm body was pressed against his side. A small arm was thrown over his torso, gripping the material of his pyjama shirt. Jason turned his head to look at the boy. He was stubbornly staring at the wall, refusing to meet Jason’s eyes. Jason smiled and put his arm around the kid’s tiny torso. 

They laid like that for a while, aware the other was awake but not willing to acknowledge it. 

Jason decided to break the silence. 

“Why’d you come here?” He asked the dark room. _Why me_ , was the unspoken question. 

Damian shrugged, the motion lightly knocking his shoulder against Jason’s torso. “Was close when the cramps started,” He mumbled sleepily. “Grayson was too far away, Cassandra and Brown were on their own patrol on the other side of the city and Father and Drake were at a gala. And...” He stayed silent for a long time, so long Jason would think he’d fallen asleep, were it not for his too fast breathing. At last, he spoke. “Safe.” 

He only muttered that one word, but Jason knew what he meant. The kid didn’t just go to Jason because it was nearest. Hell, he’d swung through the entire city back to the cave with three gunshot wounds once. He could’ve made it if he really wanted to. But he felt safe enough to come to Jason. To his big brother. 

Jason adjusted the blanket so it covered them fully and drew his little brother in closer. He closed his eyes. 

“Go to sleep, kid. You’re safe with me.” 

For a while, the only sound in the dark room was their breathing, slow and in sync. Then, a small voice. 

“Thanks, Jason.” 

* * *

Damian didn’t know what it was, but he felt _bad_. Everything just felt slightly off. It was like he was both floating and chained to the ground. He wasn’t in his body, but he was also way too aware of it, every single patch of skin, every vein, every muscle, everything. It was like he was in limbo, just between worlds. He was anchored to his body and he was floating away up into space and he didn’t exist at all, all at the same time. 

His binder was scratchy on his skin and just served as a reminder of what was under there, why he was wearing it. Ever since that night at Todd’s, he’d been on his period, for three whole days now, and it was _bothering_ him. His stomach ached at the most random of times and using the restroom was a chore and he felt _wrong._

And his _hair_. 

It came down to far below his shoulders, tickling and teasing and touching and he needed it _gone_. 

He’d gotten it cut not long after he came out, of course, but he didn’t enjoy going to the hairdresser, he didn’t like the looks, the touch of a stranger, being in an unfamiliar space, and it had grown quite a bit since then. His hair had always grown fast and now it was unbearable. 

Which is why he was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, razor in hand. He switched it on. He hadn’t used it before, but it couldn’t be that hard to shave his own head, right? If he could use swords, batarangs, knives and the like, he could use an electrical razor. 

He brought the razor to the side of his head and carefully pressed it to his hair. Thick locks fell to the floor, sharp and pitch black on the smooth white tile. He switched off the razor and took a look at himself in the mirror. The right side of his head was better, shorter. It only helped contrast the length of the rest of his hair. 

He turned the razor on again. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been at it, but the pile of hair on the floor had grown larger and his vision blurry. 

A gentle hand touched his and pulled away the razor, a soft voice shushing him when he tried to protest through hiccups. 

“It’s okay, little brother. It’s okay.” 

Cassandra was standing behind him. He made eye contact with her in the mirror, though cloudy. 

“You’ll hurt yourself like this. Let me help you.” 

When Damian looked at her, his question apparent in his eyes, his body, she explained. “I learned how to do it myself while I was on my own. It’s easier on other people.” 

Damian hesitated for a moment, but surrendered. He trusted Cassandra. 

She seemed to have read his answer in the way his shoulders sagged slightly, the short puff of breath that left his lips, because then the razor was buzzing again. 

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to. They understood each other, in a way different from how Damian and Grayson understood each other. They were alike, the two of them. Their childhoods were mirrors of each other, both created and raised with a purpose, being made into a living weapon. Two sides of the same coin. They didn’t need words to communicate. Silence was all they needed. They both spoke the language of the body fluently. 

Cassandra went over the uneven patches with sure movement, evening them out, so the sides and back of his head were one level buzzcut. She left the top long. He found he didn’t mind. Of course she knew what he needed, knew it better than himself, sometimes. 

Damian ran his hand through the delightfully short strands on the back of his head. It felt... right. 

“Feels nice, right?” Cassandra beamed at him. 

Damian nodded. “Yeah... Thank you.” 

“I understand,” She said, a deep compassion and kindness laying behind her eyes. 

He cocked his head. “Understand what?” 

“Need.” 

Through just that one word, he understood what she meant. 

She seemed hesitant for a moment, maybe the first time Damian had seen her that way. Then, she spoke. “I am... not a girl. Not fully.” She switched over to signing. “There’s a little bit of it there, but mostly I am just floating there. There’s a little bit of girl, and a lot of nothing. Sometimes the girl part is strong, sometimes it’s barely there at all. It’s hard to explain. Spoken language... lacks the words. So does body language. It is something of the mind. Something that can’t be shown or put into words.” 

Damian nodded. “I agree. Language is not enough. Gender is more complicated than any words can convey.” 

Cassandra nodded enthusiastically, a smile tugging at her lips. She bent down and gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you understand, little brother.” 

She ruffled his newly cut hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead, then skipped out of the room. 

Damian touched his newly cut hair, traced over the short strands with his fingertips, feeling fully grounded for the first time that day. 

* * *

Damian had been on his way to his room, planning to continue his painting of Titus, when a voice called out to him. 

“Hey, kid! Wanna join?” 

He turned to the direction the sound came in. The door to one of the living rooms was open and he could hear the faint thrum of electrical guitar reaching out to him. He peeked inside. His three brothers and his sister were lounging around in various states of casual clothing (meaning, Todd, Cassandra, and Drake were wearing hoodies and sweatpants, and Grayson a Flash T-shirt he’d cropped and _booty shorts_ , for some godawful reason). Todd was the one who’d spoken. He was currently leaning back on the couch, arms thrown over the back. His nails were multicoloured. Cassandra was sitting next to him and holding his right foot between her knees in an attempt to keep him still while she painted his toe nails. 

Damian lingered in the door opening. He’d planned a midday on his own, but he had to admit the idea of spending the day with his siblings was tempting. It had been a while since both Grayson and Todd were home at the same time. 

“Well? Wanna join in on our painting sesh?” Todd repeated. To some, he might have sounded impatient, but Damian recognized the tone of his voice as encouraging. 

Still, he was unsure. 

“That’s... that’s allowed?” 

Damian was a boy. Boys weren’t supposed to paint their nails. 

Right? 

“Of course, baby brat. Nail polish ain’t gender. If I like my nails rainbow, who’s to say I’m not a man? Fuck what others say, I do what I want.” That last sentence was punctuated by a tap to his hip, where his gun holster sat when he was out as the Red Hood. Cassandra smacked his hand away, grumbling at him to stay still. 

“I guess you’re right.” Damian entered the room. 

Todd scoffed. “Of course I‘m right. Who do you take me for? Timmers?” 

Drake’s head shot up from where he’d been lounging on his stomach on the floor, feet lazily swishing through the air. “Hey!” 

“Shh, sit still, Timmy, or I’ll mess up your nails,” Grayson chastised him, pinning Drake’s right hand down on the carpet. He was holding a tiny brush. A bottle of black nail polish sat beside the two of them. 

“I-” A sudden scream from Todd’s phone interrupted Damian’s sentence and he made a face. “What are you playing?” 

Todd grinned slyly. “My Chemical Romance. We voted three to one.” He high fived Drake, careful not to disturb his wet nails. 

Grayson huffed. “Just because you three can’t appreciate the goodness that is ABBA-” 

“Bla bla, masterpiece, bla bla, talent through the roof, bla bla, _we get it_ , Dickface.” 

Grayson huffed again, but continued painting Drake’s nails. 

“So, you wanna?” Todd asked again. “I’m not as good at nail painting as Goldie – oh thanks, Cassie -, but I gotta say I’ve got a pretty steady hand after all these years of stitching myself up in the dark.” Jason retracted his now fully painted feet as Cassandra rolled off the couch to lay down next to Drake. 

“No one is telling you to keep the lights off when you do that, Jason. Just admit you do it to be edgy.” Drake rolled his eyes. 

Todd threw a pillow at him. 

Grayson shrieked. “Jason! My hard work! You almost messed up Tim’s nails! This took me half an hour, you ass! Don’t throw pillows when I’ve got an open bottle of nail polish here! Alfred would kill me if I got anything on the carpet.” 

“It isn’t called a throw pillow for nothing.” 

Cassandra snatched up the pillow and placed it underneath her chin, closing her eyes and humming happily. Grayson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep his calm at his brother’s ridiculous antics. “I hate you.” 

Todd grinned. “Aww, love you too, big bro.” 

Grayson shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, lay it on thick.” 

Todd amped up the grin and added puppy dog eyes for good measure. Grayson caved. “Fine. Love you too, Little Wing. Now shut up and paint Dami’s nails.” 

Todd sat up straight and patted the spot next to him. “Come here, Babybat. What colour?” 

Damian sat down, legs crossed. Todd pulled his hands in his lap after placing a towel over his legs to protect them from any potential future spills. He gestured to the wide array of colours displayed on the coffee table. Damian carefully studied them. 

“Green, please.” 

Todd hummed, picking up the bottle. “Good choice. Green it is.” 

Ten minutes later, Todd declared them done. Damian brought his hand up to his face to examine his nails. They were forest green and slightly lumpy. (“No complaining, I _told_ you I wasn’t as good as Dick. No one ever fucking listens to me in this household. Except you, Cass. That’s why you’re my favourite.” “I’m everyone’s favourite.” “You got me there.”) 

“My poor painting skills aside, what do you think?” 

Damian looked back up, finding the eyes of all his currently present family members on him. 

“It’s adequate.” 

Todd whistled obnoxiously. “That’s a big compliment, coming from you. I’ll take it.” 

“Jason,” Cassandra said, sitting up and going back over to the couch Damian and Todd were sitting on. “Paint mine now.” 

“Absolutely not,” Damian said. “My painting skills are far superior than any of yours, and especially Todd’s. I shall paint your nails, Cassandra, and they shall be the most beautiful nails in Wayne Manor. Pick your co- what are you looking at, Grayson?” 

Grayson was blinking up at him from the floor, chin resting on his hands, eyes the biggest Damian had ever seen. “Nothing, Dames. Just glad we’re all bonding.” 

Damian blinked. “Well. _Someone_ had to teach Todd how to paint properly. My canvas is usually much larger, but I suppose this shall do.” 

Cassandra handed him a yellow bottle of nail polish. Damian hummed approvingly. “The colour of gold and sunshine and happiness. It fits you well, Cassandra.” 

Cassandra just smiled and laid her hands in Damian’s lap, ready to be painted. Damian shifted all his concentration to her nails. As the most respectable person in the house - besides Pennyworth and Damian himself, of course - Cassandra deserved nothing but the best. He was so focused, he only noticed Drake had crept up to them when the shutter of his phone camera went off. Damian’s head whipped up. 

“Drake! What is the meaning of this!” 

Drake grinned and quickly scooted back to hide behind Grayson. Coward. “You just looked so cute with your tongue sticking out like that, I had to take a picture to send to B and Alfie.” 

“My tongue was not sticking out,” Damian insisted. 

“This picture says otherwise.” 

“I shall smash your phone to pieces,” Damian threatened. 

Drake looked smug like a fox. “You’re welcome to try, but I’m afraid that won’t do anything. I’ve already sent it to Babs. You’ll never be able to delete it now.” 

Damian huffed. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and do not want to ruin Cassandra’s nails for your pettiness, or I’d have already skewered you.” 

Drake snorted, a grating sound on Damian’s ears. “Love you too, Dami.” 

Damian elected to ignore him. That is, until Grayson squealed and moved, plopping his dumb face next to Damian on the couch. “Damiii, you look so adorable here, just look!” 

Grayson pushed his damn phone toward Damian’s face, who stubbornly ignored him and kept his concentration on painting Cassandra’s nails. When Grayson realised Damian wasn’t going to look, he just shrugged and adjusted the phone so Cassandra could see. 

“Cute,” She agreed. 

“I must agree with Timmers, Big Bird and Cassie.” Todd chimed in. “For an assassin baby you do look pretty harmless and, dare I say, cute, in this picture.” 

Damian huffed again. “You are all imbeciles.” 

He continued painting Cassandra’s nails, paying no mind to his dumb siblings. 

He’d deny it if anyone commented on the smile tugging at his lips. 

* * *

_13 years old_

"Thomas. I require your assistance." 

Damian burst into the room, not bothering to knock. Duke looked up from where he was laying on his bed on their stomach, book in hands. 

"Uh, hey, Dami. What’s up?” 

"You use both he and they pronouns, correct?" 

“Yeah? What about it?” 

“I have come across a list of pronouns unfamiliar to me. I thought you might know more and I wish for you to help me understand them.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Please.” 

Duke rolled over so they were in a sitting position. “Oh. Sure.” 

They hadn’t been expecting that. Damian wasn’t one for asking for help usually, and when he did, he went to Dick. Never Duke. Duke was honestly kind of touched. He hadn’t been part of the family for very long, and hadn’t spent that much time doing one on one bonding with Damian after their initial meeting and that time they went to the movies together. They were glad Damian trusted him enough to ask him for help. 

He patted the free space next to him to encourage Damian to sit down on the bed. After a brief period of hesitance, the boy complied. 

“So, what pronouns did you stumble on?” 

Damian fished his phone out of his pocket, drawing up a list of pronouns he was struggling with. 

Duke didn’t mind helping him with this. People seeking education on neo-pronouns were few and far between, and Duke was honestly just happy Damian had felt comfortable enough around them to admit he didn’t understand something. 

The next short while was spent in easy conversation, the topic flowing from neo-pronouns to general trans experiences and eventually to everything and nothing, Damian’s current art project, the movie Duke saw last week with his friends and Bruce’s blunder in the kitchen yesterday. (Rice and gasoline had been involved. It hadn’t been pretty.) 

They eventually grew silent, though it was far from uncomfortable. Duke was leaning against his bedframe, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his crop top. Damian was fidgeting with his necklace, a thing he did when he was nervous, Duke had noticed. 

“Is something wrong?” 

Damian startled at Duke’s voice disturbing his thoughts. “I... actually wanted to ask about your pronouns as well, if that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, sure, I don’t mind,” Duke hummed. They were aware most binary people didn’t quite understand his pronouns, trans or not. He trusted Damian to be polite about it, so they gestured for him to go on. 

“I was wondering why exactly you use multiple sets of pronouns. I don’t have a problem with it myself, of course, but I was just a bit confused about it. Could you explain it to me? If you want, that is.” 

“Well, it’s a bit hard to explain.” Duke thought for a few moments. “How did you know you wanted to use he/him pronouns?” 

Damian answered immediately. “It just felt righ- oh.” 

“Yeah, that’s basically it. But except for one set of pronouns, I like two. Just using he/him doesn’t feel exactly right, especially since it can make people read me as just male, when I’m not. But I do like using he, just combined with they/them. I don’t know if that makes much sense, but that’s my personal reasoning.” Duke grinned. “And it helps confuse cis people, which is an added bonus.” 

Damian hummed. “I do enjoy confusing cis people.” 

“Did that help?” 

“Hm.” Damian nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I understand now. Thank you.” 

He eyed the abandoned book laying on Duke’s pillow. 

“What were you reading?” 

Duke’s eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s this really good poetry book, it’s got all of Wilfred Owen’s poems, an English poet during World War One, and...” 

They rambled on for a good five minutes, until they realised what they were doing and abruptly cut themselves off. “...and his use of alliteration in _Anthem_ _For_ _Doomed Youth_ is amazing, like, he imitates the sound of the rifles with words so it becomes an onomatopoeia and- oh, sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I? That’s not what you came here for, sorry. You can leave if you want.” 

Damian waved him away. “It’s alright. I’m enjoying your knowledge of this topic. Do go on.” 

“Oh. Thanks, Little D.” Duke smiled and continued, noting the way Damian didn’t protest the nickname and just made himself comfortable on the bed, absentmindedly chewing on his necklace, full concentration on Duke’s words. 

Duke decided they quite liked having a little brother. 

* * *

_16 years old_

Light had been filtering in through the curtains earlier, but he’d been sitting here for so long the white had turned orange, then red-pink-purple, and then disappeared entirely until his room was encased in darkness. There were no stars visible, as per usual for Gotham, so the only light was the pale reflection of the moon that had managed to pierce the veil of clouds in the blanket of black that was the sky. It was just enough light for Damian to make out the form of the syringe resting on the covers of Damian’s bed he was stubbornly staring at, chewing rather aggressively on his necklace. 

He knew it wouldn’t be hard to just put it in his leg. He’d given himself sedatives by stabbing a syringe into whatever vein was available before. It shouldn’t be this hard. 

But it was. It was hard. It felt like... like... 

Damian didn’t even know what it felt like. A new chapter, maybe. Perhaps a next step. Something final. He of course knew it wasn’t final, not in the slightest. One had to consistently take testosterone for it to stick. He supposed it was more of a mental barrier, not a physical one. He wanted this, he truly did. He’d asked Father if he could go on T after Timothy had had his top surgery. Seeing Timothy like that, so happy with his body... Damian couldn’t help being slightly envious. Don’t get him wrong, he was incredibly happy for his brother. Timothy had wanted this for so long, since before Damian had even joined the family, and now he’d finally gotten it. Damian was glad for him. He deserved it. 

But Damian had felt a want, then. He wanted to feel like that. To feel at home in his own body. He’d inquired his brothers about their experiences with taking testosterone. Richard had told him about it in detail, with occasional comments from his husband. Wallace’s experiences with testosterone shots hadn’t been all that helpful to Damian, with his accelerated healing and faster working molecules his body had taken to the testosterone rather quickly. Unfortunately, Damian had not been touched by the speed force, so this did not apply to him. 

Richard had been a bit more helpful, considering he wasn’t a metahuman. Still, Damian had wanted more accounts from different people. He’d gone to Jason, which had turned out to be useless. The Lazarus Pit had not only removed his breasts for him, but also balanced his hormone levels so Jason had gotten T basically automatically. Lucky bastard. 

Timothy had been quite helpful. His story was similar to Damian’s. He’d gone on T shortly before Damian’s arrival in Gotham. Damian had personally seen the changes over the years, and knew what he could expect. 

Timothy had offered to ask his boyfriend Conner and his best friend Bartholomew about their experiences with testosterone, but Damian had declined. Bartholomew would be the same as Wallace, both being speedsters and all, and Conner was a Kryptonian which was even farther removed from Damian’s biology. Although he supposed the clone was only half Kryptonian. Regardless, both of them had had an accelerated childhood and puberty before they went on T, which Damian couldn’t relate to at all. He appreciated the offer, though. 

Based on this information and a few more venting sessions to Richard, he had eventually made his decision: He would ask Father if he could start hormone replacement therapy. 

Which was how he got here. Looking at a syringe filled with that what he had wanted for so long. He still wasn’t completely sure why he was having such difficulties just plunging it into his veins. It was one little syringe. He wanted this. Then _why_ \- 

A knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice. “Master Damian?” 

Pennyworth. 

“The door is unlocked.” 

Pennyworth stepped into the room. He immediately spotted the syringe laying unused. “I see you have not taken your testosterone shot yet. Is everything alright, my boy?” 

Damian sighed. “I’m fine. It’s just- I don’t know. It’s hard, for some reason. I do want it, I want it so bad, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.” 

“What if I did it?” 

Damian looked up. His chewy fell out of his mouth. “What?” 

“I have quite the experience with testosterone syringes, both with myself and Masters Dick and Tim. I could do your shot for you, if you want.” Pennyworth’s voice was warm, no judgment present whatsoever. 

“Really? You would do that for me?” 

A gentleness tugged the corners of Pennyworth’s lips up, barely visible, but if he were anyone else, it would be a beaming smile. “Of course. I would not offer if I didn't mean it. We could call it a grandfather/grandson tradition, if you will.” 

“Okay.” Damian hadn’t even meant to say it, not this quickly at least. But he couldn’t find himself regretting it. 

Pennyworth sat down next to him. Damian was wearing shorts, for easy access to his thigh, so Pennyworth picked up the syringe and got to work. Damian barely felt the prick of the needle entering his leg. He was used to much worse, and when he normally got pierced with sharp objects, it wasn’t to own merit, so honestly, this barely bothered him. 

When Pennyworth had finished, he placed a frog themed band aid he’d seemingly procured out of nowhere on the tiny incision on Damian’s thigh. “There we go, lad. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Damian shook his head in no. “Thanks, Alfred.” 

“It was my pleasure. Now, what do you say we go down and get ourselves some hot chocolate? Master Bruce and Master Tim might even join us for a movie night. I’ve heard _How_ _To_ _Train Your Dragon_ is quite good.” 

Damian pushed himself off the bed, following Pennyworth out of the dark room. He closed the door, welcoming the light in the hallway. They went down to the kitchen and he assisted Pennyworth in making the cocoa before gathering Father and Timothy from the cave, and they all settled down in the living room soon after. Damian fell asleep warm and feeling lighter than ever, lulled by the low hum of Father’s voice responding to Timothy’s curious questions and Pennyworth’s amused comments. 

And well, if the next time he needed a T shot, Pennyworth insisted on administering it again, Damian wasn’t going to stop him. 

* * *

_20 years old_

Damian woke up to a dark room. It was unfamiliar to him, but the slow breathing coming from the figure beside his bed wasn’t. Father was awake but silent, just sitting there. Damian realised his hand was resting in Father’s. He didn’t know which of them had initiated the gesture, but he supposed it didn’t matter. It was comforting nonetheless. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Father said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “The surgery went well, no complications. How are you feeling?” 

Right. The surgery. 

Damian tentatively looked down, pulling away the covers with his free hand. And there it was. His bare chest. Flat. 

Suddenly, emotion came rushing to him, filling his head and buzzing through his veins. His eyes filled up and tears hit his now-flat chest, the white bandages a stark contrast to his brown skin. In a few days there would be a thin line of scarring joining the countless ones scattered all over his body. But for the first time, the scars wouldn’t be a reminder of lost battles and lost childhoods. For the first time, his scars would be a promise of happiness, a wish come true, a sense of comfort and warmth. For the first time, he could truly feel at home in his own body. 

“Hey, hey, Damian, what’s going on?” Father asked, worry apparent in the way his voice was ever so unsteady. “Are you okay?” 

Damian looked up to him and just smiled, tears unashamedly rolling down his cheeks. “Yeah,” He said, voice wavering but strong. “Everything is just fine.” 

Father seemed to understand, then, and smiled back at him. “I’m proud of you, son. I’m so proud of this journey you’ve gone on to find yourself. I love you so much.” He brushed Damian’s slightly sweaty hair away from his face. Damian leaned into the warm touch. 

“I love you too, Baba.” 

They sat in silence for a while longer, Damian marvelling at his chest while Father carded his fingers through his hair. 

“Are you ready for visitors?” Father asked eventually. “Your siblings are excited to see you. They’ve been camping out in the corridor.” 

Damian thought for a moment, then nodded. He wanted to see them. 

Father stood up and opened the door, exchanging hushed words with those outside. Damian could vaguely pick up something about staying calm and not crowding him too much. A few years ago, he’d have been offended at that, he didn’t wish to be coddled like this. Now, he was just grateful for the care Father showed. 

His siblings slowly filtered in, Richard first, of course. He was already crying for some reason. Sap. 

He immediately rushed to Damian’s side, hands hovering awkwardly over his body, as if asking a silent question. Damian’s arms twitched in an aborted motion to raise them. He wouldn’t be able to lift his arms for a while, but Richard seemed to understand, and gently embraced Damian, careful not to aggravate his bandages. 

“Hey, Grayson,” Damian whispered, the familiar, fond nickname falling off his tongue easily, like an old friend. 

“Hey, Babybat,” Richard whispered back. “I’m so happy for you. You’ve worked so hard for this. You deserve this.” 

Damian blinked away the tears lingering on his lashes. “All because of you.” 

“No,” Richard disagreed. “This is all you. I may have given you a nudge in the right direction, but this is all your hard work. You did this. Own it.” 

Damian chuckled softly. “You always were the one most likely to become a motivational speaker, Richard.” 

“Nah. I just really love you.” 

Damian buried his face in Richard’s chest. He was warm, his steady heartbeat like a soothing lullaby. He’d always slept easiest in his oldest brother’s arms, especially after being woken up by dreams of soundless screams and blood on his hands. Richard never failed to take away the pain and lull him back to sleep, dreamless this time. Even after all this time, Damian still felt most safe and protected from the world of thorns while in Richard’s company. Nothing could harm him, not with his brother there. 

A new voice made Damian look up from Richard’s shirt. 

“Looking good, kiddo.” Jason was grinning down at him from behind Richard, a not-so-subtle fondness shining through both his eyes and voice. 

“Always,” Damian smirked back. 

Jason snorted and stepped forward to ruffle his little brother’s hair, Richard taking a step back to let him. Damian squawked and pretended to swat at him, but leaned into the touch. No one commented on it, although he was sure everyone noticed. 

A presence made itself known at the other side of the bed. Timothy had dragged an empty chair next to Father’s and had taken a seat, taking Damian’s hand in his. 

“Too lazy to stand, Timothy?” Damian snarked, though there was no real malice in his voice, just a hint of teasing and affection. 

Timothy smirked at him. “You know it, Dames.” He was silent for a beat. “I suppose you won’t need those binders anymore.” 

“You’d be correct about that,” Damian said slowly. Where was he going with this? 

“I thought, how about we donate them to a local trans charity? I’m sure there’s plenty of trans kids who could use them.” 

Damian nodded solemnly. “It would be an honour.” 

Timothy gave Damian’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve caught up to me again. How’s it feel?” 

Damian grinned widely and squeezed back. “Wonderful.” 

Duke leaned on the bedframe at the foot of the bed. “Hey, Little D.” 

“Hey, Middle D,” Damian mirrored his greeting. 

Duke grinned and nodded at the bandages covering Damian’s chest. “I like your crop top.” 

Damian snorted. “I took some inspiration from you and Richard.” 

Duke gestured to their own, actual crop top. “Excellent taste. So, movie and popcorn when we get home? Like old times?” 

“Like old times,” Damian agreed. 

“Dami!” Stephanie beamed, bounding up to the bed. “I brought you some tissues.” She handed a small pack to Damian, leaning over Timothy’s shoulder to do so. “I did a ton of research about care after top surgery. I’m not letting you out of my sight for longer than an hour. We’re not taking any risks with those stitches, you hear me, mister?” 

“Thanks, Stephanie.” Damian wiped at his eyes and cheeks. “I appreciate it.” 

She grinned and tapped the tip of his nose. “I’m not your best pseudo-sister for nothing. Don’t tell Babs.” 

“My lips are sealed,” Damian promised. 

“Master Damian. I am most glad to see you awake.” Alfred was standing behind Duke. His usually so stoic face was tugged into a smile, the wrinkles next to his eyes quadrupled into an expression of joy. “I have prepared your room with the necessary equipment for your recovery, including some new films. _How To Train Your Dragon 2_ has recently come out. I think you’ll enjoy it.” 

“You’re the best, Alfred.” 

“Of course.” 

Damian felt the bed tip, and looked up to see Cassandra sitting down next to his legs. “You look happy,” She said. 

Damian smiled at her, his eyes welling up again. In mere seconds his face was wet again, nullifying the work of Stephanie’s tissues, but he found he didn’t mind. This wasn’t the first time he’d cried in front of his family, and it wouldn’t be the last. Besides, tears from happiness should flow, as Alfred had once told him. Humans needed to express their emotions, be it despair, anger, or joy. Sometimes, this was accomplished by crying. It was cathartic, Richard had said. Damian decided he agreed with them. 

“I am.” 

And he was. There he was, surrounded by his family, his body finally feeling like it was his, and he was happy. 

He smiled and let the tears flow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok ok I know Bruce probably cant change Damian's birth records as easily as that but whatever. He's Batman.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, please leave me a comment telling what you thought, if you want
> 
> My DC blog: autistic-damian-wayne


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